WORST COMICS I EVER WORKED WITH

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized

But no names, just to be nice. A few months ago, I talked about a juggler I worked with in Arizona and the guilt I felt about compounding the misery of his disastrous set with a somewhat catty remark during my triumphant set at his expense. That was a gig in Arizona. The three I want to talk about were all in California at various times in my career, in fact, they were in three different decades.

So let’s go in chronological order. In 1974, Rick and Ruby had a deal to do weekend shows at a decent sized venue in Concord, about 35 miles east of San Francisco, called Petar’s Bistro. We were getting what would be a livable wage from Petar’s, but we also thought it might be fun to put extra acts on, and our manager found a few comedians that were willing to do some time in between our sets. There were only three that we ever dealt with, and two were impressionists. Since Watergate was dominating the headlines, of course there were impressions not only of Nixon, but all the members of the investigating committee.

One of the impressionists, Jim Giovanni, managed to have a modicum of success a few years later. The other impressionist was mediocre at best, but the third act had the moxie to actually lip sync bits from comedy albums! Really! He just sat on a stool and would say “The next bit is George Carlin and ‘Seven Words You Can’t Say on Television'” or maybe a Cheech and Chong routine, and then play a tape, lip synching along with the tape. Sure, he got his laughs but only because there were a few people out there who had never heard the original bits. It’s a unique way of stealing from other comics. An early version of a tribute act! What was funny was there were enough people unfamiliar with the bits that the guy got laughs, though it was really George Carlin and Cheech & Chong that were getting them. The guy did a little better lip synching Spike Jones routines because they were less familiar, but the lack of imagination was undeniable. One of our regular fans put it bluntly when he asked us “Where’d you find THAT turkey?”

Now we move ahead to the mid-80s, and my solo career working a plethora of one-nighters at restaurants and bars up and down the Southern California coast. The nice thing about those gigs was the majority of them would throw in a meal. Fair enough, since we were driving 50 to 100 miles, sometimes in rush hour traffic, to do maybe a half hour for maybe $100. Also, if I was headlining the gig, I could enjoy my meal while the other acts were on. In this one venue somewhere around Ventura, I was in the back having dinner, and the first act went up. His first words were “I got a confession to make.” I had an attack of psychic energy, as I somehow knew exactly what that confession would be: “I’m an asshole!” Maybe it was because I remembered a scene in the movie “Fame” where one of the characters with emotional issues was attempting standup at an open mic and made that same “confession.” Whatever, this excuse for a comedian dwelled on and on explaining why he was an asshole, and must have used the word close to 100 times in his 15 excruciating minutes. After a while, asshole was the only word you heard, and the people around me were getting really annoyed by his limited vocabulary. Thankfully there was another act going up before me, so it was up to someone else to bring the audience focus back.

Moving on to the 90s, and another gig in Ventura County, this time driving the other two acts in my car, but one nice thing about it was the act that would be emceeing was an old friend from San Francisco days. However, the not so nice thing was the third party in the car was a woman I’d seen once before doing an open mic spot at the Comedy Store, thought she was terrible then. Like many comics who were not making a living at comedy, she was one of those enlisted to lead courses in Traffic School, the Dept. of Motor Vehicles figuring they could make it more entertaining than if some policeman did it. Anyway, we’re driving to the gig, and she clearly hadn’t left the classroom yet, as she openly criticised me if she noticed my speedometer going even a mile over the speed limit. Off on a bad foot already!

At the gig, she went up first, and was not getting much in the way of response, maybe because she had a nasal monotone all the way through her monologue that made her hard to listen to. And if that voice couldn’t get ear-piercing enough, she closed her act by doing an impression of herself as a child. This meant that same voice now an octave higher. OMG! My friend made me laugh the hardest I’d laughed in many years when he mimed pulling the pin on a grenade and tossing it towards the stage. I forgot to mention that on the ride out, when she wasn’t criticising my driving, she kept bitching about the lack of work, and blaming it on sexism. She wasn’t wrong there, but there’s times when you can tell from before they get on stage they’re going to be dreadful. She didn’t disappoint there! She knew things hadn’t gone well because I stormed it that night. On the ride back, she remained silent the entire way. I would see her on a few other occasions, but thankfully, we never worked on the same bill.

I’ve seen and worked with many great acts over the years, and quite a few shitty ones, but somehow these three were most etched in my memory. I would hope that Lip-syncher, Asshole, and Traffic School found other suitable means of employment!

September 27th, 2024



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